Elegy
by Australis
Summary: As something ends, there are moments, as we acknowledge the passing. It even happens on the disc. We grow, we change. FOR T.P. "Well done, that man"


Elegy

A Discworld fanfic by Australis

.

I.

Sir Samuel Vimes stood on the roof of the Watch house in Psuedopolis Yard and stared down at the flickering lights of grand Ankh and lowly Morpork. He took out a slim cigar from his silver case, even though Sybil didn't approve, and lit it. He could hear the susurration of city life, the bark of hawkers (with Dibbler's occasional attempt) and normal conversation. No screams. No angry shouts. No clash of weapons. He was surprised to find his city… at peace. Maybe a chance to catch his breath? Take Sybil and young Sam out to the country? Carrot had things under control, and he had more coppers than the city had seen in centuries. It was… peace.

There was a soft, almost silent movement behind him, and his dagger was in his hand and raised in one fluid movement before he realised it.

"Glad to see you still have your reflexes, your Excellency," said Vetinari, his nondescript clothing helping him blend into the background.

"Dammit, I could have knifed you!" Vimes's sense of peace was momentarily shaken.

"I had faith in your skills. And reason." He stepped back from the Commander and looked out over the city too. "So, I see you and your men have done the impossible: brought law and order to the city."

"Yes." Vetinari raised an eyebrow.

"You don't seem happy about it." There was a long silence.

"I am. Crime down, guilds behaving themselves, my men not getting hurt."

"But?"

"It's a bit… quiet. No chases, no cons, no madmen."

"Ahh, Commander, you have overlooked the obvious."

"Yes?"

"It is quiet, but… there will be others. Enjoy the peace… for now."

And then he did something he never did before, placing a hand on Vimes's shoulder.

"You have done very well, and the city, and _I_, thank you."

And Vetinari smiled as he enjoyed that rare thing, a Vimes lost for words.

.

II.

Somewhere in Unseen University. Somewhere _deep_ in Unseen University.

The Egregious Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography opened the door cautiously, in deference to a life of hard and often unwanted experience, the put his hat on a broom handle and stuck it in first. Nothing happened, and working on the principle that if they didn't aim at it the first time they wouldn't the second (third is a different and sometimes much shorter story), and peered round the door.

It was not the kind of room you'd expect in a university. Yes, it had a desk and a bookcase and even a hayrack, but few rooms in the university had their own beach.

He strolled down to it, kicking off his sandals and wriggling his toes in the fine yellow grit. One of his predecessors (quite literally pre-deceased) had used this room before him. Notes found in his diary said he found it "a bit dull", as interesting geography wasn't exploding or the fauna trying to kill him, so he moved to something more exciting and, ultimately, terminal.

Now… now no one used it. And Rincewind could have it all to himself. No more running from something with teeth or edged weapons, no implacable bloodthirsty tribes, no conquering empires, no repressive mad kings, no bossy landladies demanding rent.. Here was peace and quiet, with drinks and food discreetly supplied by the kitchens and a special map to guide the staff to bring them.

And yet…

… yet there was this little pang, this little twitch, that something that had always been in his life was missing, was gone and not returning. He sighed. He was glad to stop, glad to have the time to count the scars, if he could repress the memories of how he got them, and maybe even get some old-fashioned Ankh-Morpork roast potatoes, but still… And there it was.

No more running.

But… no more running.

He sat on the beach, and stared out to sea.

.

III.

The scythe glowed along its blade as it always did after he'd sharpened it. He was pleased as he swung it, cutting even the sound itself.

_sw/_

_ ish_

He made his way back from the toolshed to the house. As he entered, he could hear Albert muttering in the kitchen as he fried his porridge.

But as he entered the Lifetimer room, something happened… as if everything in the room, in the house, in the fields around them… paused, like an intake of breath held, then released. The Death of Rats scuttled in and sat up on its hindlegs.

SQUEAK?

YES, THERE IS… SOMETHING…

He scanned the shelves, and found it.

OH, he said. HIM.

SQUEAK.

I KNOW.

SQUEAK.

YES. This was going to be… a difficult one.

.

IV.

Hwel the playwright had been working hard for many years. The inspiration had poured through him like a stream, constantly running, never letting up…

And now, it had eased. He'd written so many stories, some good some bad. Tales of kings and ministers, queens and lords, and one about friends who danced in a fountain, and another about a "boweman who did chasse alle villains across the citie and did shoot them with mighty skill". And the one about "The Seen Field, ain playe about Nothynge". But this morning, no voices clamouring to be heard, just a silence. Peaceful in a way. A chance to rest.

He picked up his pen, looked at it for a moment. Then he laid it down, and went for a walk.

.

V

The witches hurried through the dark night. It was early spring, but still as cold as winter. Wind whipped at the trees, and an owl fluttered across the sky, racing away, lost in the black.

"We should have brought Magrat or Agnes," Nanny Ogg said in a testy voice. "I was going to settle in for a nice shandy with our Neville and… whatever his wife's name is, lovely gel."

"No,' said Granny Weatherwax, you'd have ended up finishing the bottle, _and_ the next one, and ended up _poorly_." She made it sound like the shame of the village, but Nanny cared not one jot.

"Nooo, not on two bottles, but I'd still have had fun."

"You know most everyone's story, why is he called Retry?"

Ooo, well, his mother and father, old Argus and Maybelle, kept wanting to have kids, and she was ready to give up, but he said, loudly in the pub because he was a bit pickled,, 'Come on old girl, let's have a retry'. And there he was."

Hmf. People do the oddest things."

"Well, yes, they always have.' They travelled in silence, contemplating the folly of their fellow men.

"So, why this one?" Nanny asked.

Granny didn't reply at first, adjusted her scarf against the cold.

"He asked for us. And he's important." She paused. "I don't know why, but he is. So someone needs us to be there."

"Why us?" grumbled Nanny.

"It's what we do."

.

It wasn't a fancy cottage by any means, but it was neat and well-kept. The garden was not quite bare, buds hinting at the season's change.

Granny rapped on the door, which was opened by a young woman, tired and red-eyed from weeping.

"Blessings be on this house," Granny said as gently as she could, though still making it sound like a command.

"Hello, Mistress Weatherwax, Mrs Ogg, thanks for coming." She ushered them in. "My father is upstairs."

It was a light and airy room, part bedroom, part library, part study, with a large desk, covered in papers, and bookshelves dominating two walls. Various family members were there, leaning on the fixtures or sitting on chairs, clustered around old Retry. Nanny realised he'd been around as far back as she could remember, always smiling, helpful and jolly, though when you really used First Sight, it was apparent there was anger underneath, at the way the world was shaped by indifferent forces. But he smiled now.

"Ah, Granny and Nanny, it is very good to see you, I'm glad you could come."

"Wotcher," said Nanny, with a gentle smile.

"Hello, Retry, I hope you are… comfortable."

"Oh, as well as can be expected. The only problem is I can't feel my legs any more, and a bottle is _so_ undignified."

Granny turned to the family. "We will watch over him for a while. You go and have a cup of tea. We will call you back shortly."

They all dutifully filed out, glancing back at him. He raised his hand a little. Once the door was closed, Granny turned to him. "Let's have a look." She gently probed his arms and torso, then held his head, looked into his eyes.

"Well, your head's gone wrong. But you're not losing your mind."

"No, I'm losing my body."

"True enough." She made him comfortable again, and took Nanny to one side. "There's something deep in his head that I can't reach."

Nanny glanced at him, quick but shrewd in its appraisal.. "It's too late for that now anyway." Granny simply nodded.

They sat with him, as his breathing grew more laboured and they couldn't ease it or slow it. Granny sighed.

"Better call the family in."

.

They were al sobbing now as the end approached.

"You've all… been… very lovely. All I… could want in… a family." The breathing was laboured but the smile was easy. He looked at the witches. "Thank you… for being… here." The he turned back to his family, and said in a strong voice, "I love you all."

The he sighed a long, long sigh, and stopped moving.

The sobs rose higher, and Nanny patted the hands of some of them.

"It's alright, it's all alright, he's free now, free of that terrible thing, it can't hurt him anymore. It's over." She began shepherding them out. "Now, Mistress Weatherwax and I will lay him out properly, so just leave some towels and warm soapy water at the door. It's all over. You go and have a cup of tea, and make sure you put a splash of something in it, he'd have liked that. Matter of fact, so would I, you can leave it with the towels and water. You can leave the tea out too." With a last look, they exited.

Granny had been watching out of the corner of her eye as Death entered the room and politely waited.

Retry's ghost sat up. "Oh Is that it?" For a deceased man he was remarkably chipper. "Oh well, fun while it lasted." He looked around and saw Death. "Ah, you're here. Wondered if you'd come."

I COME FOR EVERYBODY. Death stepped up, and skilfully snipped the last cord binding what was Retry to what had been Retry.

"I feel much better now I've passed away."

I HAVE A SMALL GIFT FOR YOU.

"Really?"

Death reached into the head of what had been Retry, and pulled something out that e placed in the ghost's hand. It looked like a small pile of glowing worms that squealed and squeaked, with a weird harmonic, something blind and nasty and parasitic.

"What is it?"

THIS IS THE ILLNESS THAT ENDED YOUR LIFE.

"_Really_?!" he said, and while the voice was jolly, Granny could hear the anger, such anger, underneath it. He looked at it for a moment, them closed his palm around it, made a fist, squeezed harder and harder until his hand glowed white, tighter and tighter. The squeaking grew louder and desperate, then frantic, then… stopped. He opened his palm. What was left was still and crushed, before fading away.

"I always said I'd take that wretched thing with me. Thank you for that."

In the purple light of the in-between, Nanny noticed something.

"'Ere, why are them books glowing?"

"What, mine?"

BECAUSE THEY ARE ALIVE.

"How?"

EVERY PERSON IN THEM LIVES. THEY HAVE A LIFE SOMEWHERE.

Retry nodded. "That's how it always seemed to me , that the characters came and sat beside me and told their stories.

"You must have some wizard in you," said Granny.

HIS BOOKS ARE READ ALL OVER THE DISC. I HAVE FOUND PEOPLE WITH ONE IN THEIR HAND AND A SENSE OF PEACE TO THEM.

"You mean after they'd read one of my books they were ready to die?"

Retry grinned at Death, who grinned back.

Nanny looked unconvinced. "I would have thought the stories were just words, just made up"

"Remember the play, Gytha? Words have power."

HE HAS CREATED WHOLE WORLDS, WITH REAL PEOPLE, JUST FROM WORDS. SOUNDS LIKE A WQIZARD TO ME.

"Oh. Thank you. You're too kind."

AND NOW, MR TRETTCHAP, WE MUST TAKE ONE LAST WALK.

"Oh. Oh. I see. He picked up the ghost of his hat, tipped it politely to the ladies, and said, "Thank you again for coming. I do believe it has all been… worthwhile." Then the door to whatever happens next opened, they stepped through it, and it closed behind them with a final snick of the lock.

Nanny sighed. "Well, that's that. We'd better see to him for the family." She paused. "Who knew hats had ghosts?"

"I can tell you now, Gytha," Granny sniffed, I am not going anywhere without mine!"

On the endless plain of black sand, Death turned to Retry.

SO, WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO NOW?

"I think… I think I'd like to see some of those worlds I wrote about."

I SHALL ARRANGE IT. SOME OF IT MAY INVOLVE STARTING AGAIN.

"As long as I can remember the people. As long as I can tell stories again."

THEN… LET US GO.

They both mounted Binky, and with a flash they headed off into Retry's next future.

THE END


End file.
